


His hot lips tasted like earl-gray.

by Kru



Series: it's called beginning, not the end [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kru/pseuds/Kru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine Bond returning from a mission in Morocco and finding London covered in snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His hot lips tasted like earl-gray.

**Author's Note:**

> based on this post ([x](http://leeeeeex.tumblr.com/post/69614168983/shipimpala-sigynsheritage-i-imagine-bond)) and because [shipimpala](http://shipimpala.tumblr.com/post/69402304958/sigynsheritage-i-imagine-bond-returning-from-a) wanted a winter story

He was away for a month. This time he even had a chance to enjoyed Moroccan sun. He couldn’t say the same for the cartel’s boss whom he had kept locked for ten, straight days but that were just the merits of life, weren’t they?

His face still burn when he finally fell asleep on the way back. His eyes stung from the desert sands, his nose was read as his forehead, slowly changing into a golden tan. And when he stepped on the aircraft stairs, taking off the plane, for sure he didn’t expect this...

London greeted him with a thick coat of snow. Everything around was still dimmed in the weak lights of an early morning. Streetlamps could barely force the mist. The air around him felt like frozen even if the temperature wasn’t that low. And it was still snowing.

He set the collar of his coat, felling as a slight shiver went down his spine with next blow of an icy wind. He rushed to the car, hiding in its heated inside, taking a moment to just sink in the seat.

He hated to feel cold. It was an irony. He always preferred all those destinations that allowed him to wear only suit for the whole year. He loved to feel the sun at the back of his neck whenever he worked outside. And if it was connected with someone’s lips tracing the pattern of sun rays then his life could be called perfect.

Someone’s lips, he thought, resting his head on the back of the seat. He smiled on that, making a low sound of apparition at the back of his throat. This time the shiver that run inside his body wasn’t caused by the coldness but by pure anticipation.

It was Sunday and Q probably came back home really late yesterday, helping Bond to tie all loose ends of the operation. It meant that he was still asleep. His warm body was still tangled in their sheets, his gorgeous face buried deep in the pillow, hair in a total mess.

Q loved snow. He loved to settle on the windowsill of their kitchen with a cup of tea in his hands, observing how snowflakes were lazily settling on the ground. He used to wear Bond’s too big cardigan on such days, snuggling in it and smelling it to catch any possible note of Bond’s scent when he thought that the man wasn’t watching. Then James could come to him, could kiss his hot lips that tasted like earl-gray. And on such days they were staying long, lazy hours in bed. They weren’t rushing but just spending some time together; talking, making love and then eating rally late breakfast on the duvet.

So maybe coldness wasn’t that bad? Maybe James liked snow a little bit too?

He allowed himself for another smirk when he looked in the back mirror, turning on the engage and swiftly driving from the airport’s parking lot. He rushed home. The briefing could always wait.


End file.
